In Steve Almond’s story
“Appropriate Sex,” a college writing instructor sagely instructs his
undergraduate students — a motley mix of pot-smokers, over-sexed vixens,
fundamentalist Christians and aspiring scribes — to “root out the truth,
to never avert their eyes.” One gets the impression that Almond, a
writing teacher at Boston College, has discarded the thin veil of
fiction here.

In The Evil B.B. Chow
and Other Stories, Almond seems to be doing exactly what his character
prescribes, rooting out the truths that lie quietly in human
relationships. In this pursuit Almond is vastly successful, showing
readers the truth — or at least posing questions that bring them closer
to it — in both its radiance and ugliness.

In any good collection
of stories there are subtle thematic threads that tie together the work.
For Almond, the main thread seems to be the existential crisis of how we
human beings struggle to make meaningful connections with others in our
friendships and intimate relationships. From a love-wearied creative
director at a women’s magazine in the title story to an insecure dentist
trying to drudge it through his best friend’s novel manuscript in
“Larsen’s Novel” to Abraham Lincoln (that’s right, the 16th president
makes an appearance in “Lincoln, Arisen”), these characters find
themselves hungry and, sometimes, desperate to give meaning to their
relationships, to find the truth in what stands in front of us. Almond
writes this with empathy, compassion and a fool-proof sense of the way
people speak, think and carry on.

If you’re looking for a
collection of stories about buildings blowing up, high-speed car chases
or courtroom drama, this isn’t your thing. This is a collection of human
stories that range from funny to heart-wrenching. The final story,
“Skull,” is guaranteed to sate any desire one might have for the
perverse. The prose itself is clear, clean, fluid and, at its best,
artful. Almond’s writing shucks much of the pretension that makes a lot
of “literary” fiction indigestible.

As with most
collections of short fiction, there are misfires. However, Almond’s
triumphs far overshadow the forgettable. He does use a number of
pop-culture references, which always beg questions about a book’s shelf
life; however, it’s often best to let history sort those things out for
itself.

The Evil B.B. Chow,
has the same humor, sexiness and wit as Almond’s first collection, My
Life in Heavy Metal, but now Almond — also the author of the nonfiction
Candyfreak — shows a wider range of content as well as a matured voice
and worldview. Much like the undergraduate workshop writers in
“Appropriate Sex,” Steve Almond heeds his own call to root out the truth
and does it, for the most part, masterfully here.